


The Herald of Invading Personal Space

by Exposedma



Series: The Herald of... [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:22:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3264809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exposedma/pseuds/Exposedma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabel and Cullen have been sparring, enjoying the friendly rivalry.  Both are becoming more comfortable with each other, there is the beginnings of a friendship and the two discover little known secrets about the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Herald of Invading Personal Space

It was early, the sun was still under the horizon, it was quite possibly the coldest time of day. Isabel and Cullen had agreed it was a ridiculous time to meet for sparring. She should be in her bed buried under the furs and blankets, but she was lacing up her gauntlets, and buckling her shin guards for the fifth morning in a row. They were tied, two wins and two losses a piece, and Maker take her pride but she refused to leave it at a stale mate. She stepped into the sleeping town of Haven and jogged to the sparring ring. Cullen trotted after her as she reached the gates rubbing his hands together, offering her a tight smile. 

“Good morning, my Lady.” He greeted her with a tip of his head as he always does. 

“Commander.” She nods to him in turn.

He hefts open the gates, creaking in the early morning, too loud in the silence. Once the gate doors settle there is only the crunch of their boots on the latest blanket of snow. Cullen picks up a training sword, slashing the air in wide arcs before choosing a shield. Isabel watches him from the corner of her eye, he’s not wearing his collar and his armor is lighter today, he would be quicker to counter without his usual bulk, but he was sacrificing defense. She lifts an eyebrow, Cullen was more competitive then he let on. He always explained it was to improve their skills, but she knew full well he would never go into actual battle with only grieves and shoulder guards, he came to their morning bought to win. 

“Aren’t you cold?” She asked, letting him know she noticed the difference, and that she would not be caught off guard. 

“I’ll warm up soon enough.” He salutes her with his sword, a twinkle in his eyes. 

She was leaving for Redcliff later in the day to meet with first enchanter Fiona, there was other business in the Hinterlands on top of that, including speaking with a lone Warden named Blackwall, she would be gone for two weeks at the very least. Cullen wasn’t the only one who had winning on his mind. Isabel salutes and falls into a battle ready position. Cullen doesn’t wait for her to make the first move this time. He lunges fast and Isabel barely has time to lift her shield to catch his sword. He is faster, his footwork kicking up the snow and she is on the defensive, she catches his sword on her shield again, her whole body vibrating with the power of Cullens hit, grunting as one of her legs buckles. She pushes back, shoving him off with everything she has, lunging while he rights himself, she’s grown accustomed to his fighting style and he knows it, she barely has time to keep up with his changes to adjust her own strategy. She grits her teeth as he easily counters one of her hits, he’s not the Commander of the Inquisitions forces for nothing. His sword is arcing over her left side, and she hears his voice in her head from the last time he beat her, “I noticed that you leave your left flank open after your attacks. Something to keep in mind.”

“Shit.” She takes a knee lifting her shield high catching his sword barely. She jabs her sword forward, but instead of meeting his knees she meets his shield, and she curses in frustration. 

“Yeild.” He growls out, tangling her sword in his shield. 

“Like hell!” She sacrifices her shield, slipping her arm free and grasping her sword with two hands, pulling it from Cullens shield, grasping it like a great sword. 

She pushes in close, making his own shield ineffective, jabbing and making small short movements, and he throws his own shield to the ground but Isabel smiles, too little too late, she’s won, she pushes, and he trips on the root she’s been driving him towards. She’s on him, grabbing the wrist of his sword arm, holding it over his head and holding her blunted training sword to his throat. 

“Do you yield, Commander Cullen?” She breaths out triumphant. 

“I yield. Maker’s breath, well played.” He smiles up at her, his breath coming in short white puffs in the cold air. 

She is sprawled, her legs having twined around him to keep him pinned, her torso long and taught over his, her hand still gripping his wrist above his head tightly, she can feel his breath on her cheeks, she’s close enough to notice how his hazel eyes look more like molten gold then brown, she can smell his sweat, both sweet and pungent. Her triumphant smirk falters, she can’t hold his eyes, and she looks away, instead watching his pulse against the blunt practice sword, the muscles and veins beneath his skin. She can feel the blush start on her chest winding up her neck. She releases him sitting up feeling the cold wind against her chest, a stark contrast to the warmth of his body. She stands up and backs away, before remembering herself and offering a hand to her fallen opponent. He takes it and she wonders if he’s feverish, he’s so warm, she never noticed how warm he was. She clears her throat dropping his hand as soon as he’s standing. Quickly looking away, because the gold in his eyes fascinates her, they’re so unique, not quite understanding how she had missed that particular detail before now. \

Cullen rubs the back of his neck, looking down noticing the root that had been his undoing before kneeling down to pick up the flash of metal partly covered by the snow. A ring on a chain, he lifts it holding it to the light of the rising sun, it looks like a wedding band. Isabels hands fly to her neck before she grabs the chain from his fingers, a little too quickly, almost panicked. 

“You’re married?” Cullen asks, he shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. 

“um…no, not anymore.” She clasps the chain back around her neck, where it belongs. “I’m widowed.” Guilt crashes around her for having looked at Cullen the way she did, for having enjoyed his heat, if only for a moment, she tucks the ring and chain into her tunic, hidden and out of sight, the ring is icy against her chest, shame dogs at her. Careless. 

“I’m sorry.” He watches her, how her hand curls around the ring protectively. 

“It was a long time ago.” She waves her hand, trying to dismiss the direction of the conversation. 

“Might I ask…How?” He’s curious, he shouldn’t pry, but there’s something about the reclusive Herald guarded off the battlefield, ruthless on it having been married and in love that he finds captivating. She is an enigma, and he’s interested in how she came to be. 

“Ostigar.” It’s quiet, Cullen is Ferelden, she doesn’t need to elaborate. He nods once, coughs nervously and picks up the discarded weapons. 

“Cook should be ready with the first loaves of bread. Shall we go?” He offers brightly, forced cheerfulness to change the mood, and subject. 

Isabel nods with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You fought well, you’re fast when you’re not wearing full armor. You almost had me.” She looks towards him through her lashes. He is more gracious in defeat then she is. 

“I became over confident, you clearly took better advantage of the terrain. I enjoyed these sparring matches of ours…perhaps, when you return…we could find some time for more?” His free hand goes to the back of his neck rubbing at it, looking to her shyly. 

“It couldn’t hurt…well it could, there are swords…but, yes, practice is good, and you’re a skilled partner. I see no reason why we couldn’t continue. Perhaps not so early?” She closes her eyes as she trips over her words, nearly a month, five mornings of sparring and she gets nervous around him now. He laughs nervously beside her, a poor attempt at breaking the tension that has settled between them. 

“Commander Cullen, Ser.” A boy calls out by the gate holding a basket covered in cloth. 

“Elliot, did you bring two this time?” Cullen jogs forward to the shivering child. 

“Yes Ser, commander, just like you asked.” He hesitates with the basket, looking over his shoulder. Cullen reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small leather satchel, pulls out a silver coin and hands it to the boy who smiles widely. 

“What’s this?” Isabel asks watching the boy run towards the make shift tavern and kitchen cottage. 

“Heaven.” Cullen answers through a mouthful of pastry. 

“What?” Isabel snorts with laughter at Cullen’s face now dusted with powdered sugar and a smear of strawberry jam on his upper lip. 

“Try one, and thank me later.” He holds out the basket to her. 

“Are you telling me, that what I just saw was you bribing the kitchen boy?” She reaches into the basket gingerly. 

“If I didn’t Josephine and Leliana would finish them all before I finished drills, they’re terrible. Cook only makes them on Fridays.” He finishes his in two bites, wiping his hands together. 

“Maker.” Isabel moans as she bites into it, still warm, the jam fresh and sweet. She whimpers a little while she eats it. “How have I been here a month and this is the first time I’ve had one?” 

“Ask our ambassador and spy master.” Cullen returns the practice swords and shields. 

“Well, thank you for thinking of me.” She smiles shyly, then coughs out a laugh when she finally looks up at him. 

“You’re welcome.” A half smile pulls at him, eyebrow cocking, unsure as to why she’s laughing at him now. 

“Cullen, you have some….jam.” She indicates to her upper lip, and he wipes everywhere but the place where the jam is, tucked into the divet the scar on his upper lip makes. “Stop, stop…” she’s laughing when she takes his face in her hands, holding him still with one, and slides her thumb over his lips until the offending jam is gone. “There.” She breathes out. She sees him inhale a breath sharply, his cheeks are hot to touch, and she realizes he’s blushing. She’s close, too close, and she drops her hands and takes a step back. 

“I’ll see you at the war council later…before you leave for Redcliff, My Lady.” Cullen has taken on his commander voice. It snaps Isabel out of….whatever it is. 

“Of course. I’ll speak with you later Commander. Thank you…again, for the bought…and the doughnuts.” She smiles sheepishly, and his face softens for a moment when he smiles at her.

“You’re welcome.” He tilts his head turning towards his own cabin. Isabel turns on her heels, walking towards her cabin, bringing her thumb up to her face, before sticking it in her mouth to suck off the jam.

**Author's Note:**

> So I head canon Cullen enjoying sweets just as much as Lelianna and Josephine, but because he spends the majority of his time outside, the best sweets are picked clean by the spymaster and ambassador by the time he gets to them. Bribing the kitchen staff is the only way he can indulge in his little vice.


End file.
